


Five things Saionji Kaoru gave up and one he intended to keep

by Lerry_Hazel



Category: Gakuen Heaven
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Birthday, Fluff, Friendship, Insomnia, M/M, Post-Canon, Pre-Slash, Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 14:36:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7896478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lerry_Hazel/pseuds/Lerry_Hazel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Omi goes to the USA. Kaoru totally doesn't miss him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. one & two

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: No, I do not, blah-blah-blah.
> 
> Warning: I guess it's technically pre-slash, even though the way I see it, Kaoru won't figure out that part for quite some time.

**_=1=_ **

It had seemed such a great opportunity. With the Chairman still too busy with his newly found nursery-school-crush to require their 'help', the timing had been perfect. Omi's talents undoubtedly deserved more recognition than general assumption that he had gotten the 'platinum list'. And, really, who would have thought that Saionji Kaoru, BL's resident mathematic genius who could extract cube-roots in his head, couldn't remember how he liked his own tea?

Kaoru took a deep breath, winced at the wet stain now blossoming on the wall, and ordered two nameless freshmen (first of the many aiming to overtake the Treasury next year) to clean up what remained of his finest china cup and to fetch him a bottle of mineral water from the vending machine in the hall.

It was a minor inconvenience, really. Omi's internship in Boston would not last long.

***

**

*

**_=2=_ **

Omi had always been a bit of a neat freak; Kaoru didn't really care as long as he looked presentable. So, no matter how much Omi nagged him about it, Kaoru wouldn't bother with the laundry unless it was absolutely necessary. It rarely was. Back at home they had a housemaid, and during his first two years in Bell Liberty there was Shinomiya Koji with his indefatigable desire to maintain order and unlimited supply of brooding reclusive prodigies (namely Iwai Takuto) who, in the worthy dorm leader's expert opinion, desperately needed work therapy in order to improve their social skills.

Of course, Shinomiya had graduated and his successor now spent his days revoking privileges in order to remind everybody that he was not, in fact, obliged to comfort homesick freshmen, cook extra desserts to celebrate random academic achievements, do maintenance work when specialists couldn't get there fast enough, and knock on every door, making sure no one had overslept, missed dinner or left the bed sheets out in the rain. Thankfully, he didn't consider unauthorized graffiti his problem either, so tips on choosing the correct program of washing still ran down the walls of the laundry room in Iwai's fine kanjis. Unfortunately, the tips didn't cover forgetting dark-green neckerchiefs in white trousers pockets, mistaking stain remover for liquid detergent or ignoring the 'dry cleaning only' signs. And they didn't help with holes and tears either.

Originally Kaoru had been convinced that he only allowed Omi to randomly steady him or steer him away from minor obstacles in order to indulge his friend's protective side. He had been forced to slightly re-evaluate his point on their first day in secondary school, when, upon overhearing some mocking remarks, he had ordered Omi to stop manhandling him. From his subsequent walking into a closed glass door and not landing on his ass only because Omi, for once, had chosen to disobey his instructions, Kaoru had concluded he had subconsciously got used to arranging pretexts for his friend's overprotectiveness.

A bit too used, apparently. By the end of the second week of Omi's absence Kaoru had broken his personal record of simultaneous bruising (set when Omi tried to introduce him to the wonders of roller-skating). In the middle of the third he got distracted pondering a curious new article on Poincaré conjecture and didn't get away from Shunsuke's infamous bike fast enough. Pointedly ignoring the exaggeratedly apologetic sophomore and his helping hand, Kaoru rose to his feet and started limping back to the dorms, intending to exchange the torn, dirty and slightly bloodied rag he ended up wearing for another posh white gakuran, - only to be greeted with a pile of equally unsalvageable items at the bottom of his otherwise empty wardrobe.

Shopping for clothes with Omi had always been hell. He would keep repeating 'As long as you like it, Kaoru' in that infuriatingly calm dreamy voice of his, but his ever-present smile would quirk just so, and Kaoru would hastily discard the suit he had declared perfect, try on a couple of similar models in dozed different colour schemes and end up buying the complete opposite of what he originally had in mind.

Shopping on his own, as Kaoru discovered after forty minutes and fourteen increasingly provocative outfits, was even worse: without the quirking smile he seemed unable to discern where peculiar ended and weird began. The mocking 'delicate wash' labels didn't help matters either. Still, something had to be done unless he wanted to walk around wearing his yoga sweatsuit (which was now dirty-grey, rather than pale turquoise, but at least still long enough).

In the end, he paid for two pairs of jeans (which, according to the shop assistant, should be impossible to ruin) and five sweaters nearly identical to the one Omi had given him for his last birthday. After all, if he couldn't remember the actual reason why he was so reluctant to wear the uniform (besides "you would look awful in red" from ten-year-old Omi, who obviously just wanted to dress up as the Spirit of Fire himself), he could just as well start wearing one again; in fact, it would solve most of his current problems. Although it would also leave him with two more hours to kill before his hairdresser's appointment.

***

**

*


	2. three

**_=3=_ **

Normally, a weekend in town meant rushing to Consumer Electronics where Omi would grab the latest video game and proceed to drool over some ridiculously expensive device for the next half-hour; dropping by at the supermarket and sneering at supposedly exotic mass-produced tea-blends while pretending not to notice the truly atrocious amount of sweets Omi never failed to stock upon; getting his hair fixed; wandering to the bookstore and buying more books than he could carry; insisting he could manage just fine till he was about to keel over; letting Omi take the damn bag, guide him to the nearest café and order lunch; strolling lazily around the so-called 'wilderness park' (or, as the days grew colder, the museum of questionably fine arts) arguing about whether the evening should be spent at the cinema or at the concert hall; falling asleep in the bus on the way back to the academy and not remembering getting to bed.

Today, since he had no real interest in video-games and his tea supply was still intact, Kaoru headed straight to the bookstore, where he spent fifteen minutes staring longingly at six fine leather-bound tomes of 'Economic theory' he had no hope even to lift, let alone carry all the way back to the bus stop; after three different shop-assistants wondered whether he needed their help, he reluctantly left the shop, ordered a glass of apple-and-celery fresh from a nearby café, stared down two customers who were smiling at him suggestively, and ended up leaving without touching the juice (or paying for it) when the waiter not only dared to hit on him, but also clearly mistook him for a girl.

For the next ninety minutes Kaoru roamed the town aimlessly, stopping in front of every reflective surface to stare at his darkening roots and remind himself that no, he absolutely couldn't just go back to school and leave it like this.

He had had blond hair for as long as he knew Omi. Literally. His sister had had the hair-dye for ages, determined to get herself a completely new look for her sixteenth birthday; but, as the great day drew nearer, she started wondering exactly what kind of look she was going to get; so Kaoru had volunteered to try it out. Upon seeing the result the sister had shrieked that his hair looked freaking pink and run to drag her numerous girlfriends shopping for a new wardrobe. The next day Kaoru had woken up blissfully hugging the advanced algebra textbook his sister had, as agreed, checked out from her high-school library, and, since it was relatively early, decided to go shock his teachers and antagonize his classmates with his new 'pale mushroom' hairstyle – but found them antagonizing a confused and angry American instead.

Kaoru still liked the exotic look his pinkish hair gave him, even if it didn't seem quite so exotic in BL, where those (exactly three) people who still had their natural dark hair actually stood out (but Kaoru absolutely refused to consider he could be mistaken for Iwai Takuto, whose hair might be actually grey, judging by the air of depression that seemed to be hovering around him constantly). Still, if it meant he had to endure at least four more tedious weekends like this...

At exactly 1 p.m. Kaoru fell into the familiar chair and demanded to have his original hair-colour back.

***

**

*


	3. four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sport Niwa and Nakajima are meant to be doing involves getting to a certain location on a map as soon as possible while catching and 'incapacitating' members of other team(s) on the way. My dictionary says it's 'orienteering', but I'm not convinced it's even a word. And rogaining (the way it's described on Wiki) doesn't quite fit the description, but at least it's done by teams of two.

**_=4=_ **

Aspiring freshmen treasurers number six and seven ran away from him not-quite-metaphorically screaming, but Kaoru wasn't overly concerned, even though he had only kicked out numbers four and five an hour before: the former, upon hearing that the aggregate extracurricular activity budget revision required information from the latest Student Council report, actually went to the Student Council office and came back half an hour later claiming the door was locked; and the latter, having misinterpreted the source of Kaoru's displeasure, ran to bother the new President and his two assistants/secretaries/spies on the court, of all places. After that, Kaoru had to spend almost an hour on the phone, trying to squieeze some useful information out of Narose's desperate flirty blathering (by casually admitting that Niwa hadn't been particularly famous for handling the paperwork timely, and he hadn't had a club to run – while very carefully not implying that Niwa had also never struggled with actual schoolwork and had been elected for possessing a true knack for leadership, rather than just being generally well-liked, in the first place). And, judging by the expression on their utterly clueless faces, the next two nameless freshmen didn't realise they were expected to key in the relevant information, not stare at the screens blankly waiting for him to finish the conversation and spell it out for them.

With a sigh Kaoru concluded that just doing it on his own would be significantly easier than struggling to deal with those who just couldn't keep up – and started to work on the required documents himself. It would likely take him a while, but after nearly a lifetime of 'I-didn't-mean-to-wake you-up's from a certain morning person creeping to the bathroom at precisely 6:30, Kaoru was well-acquainted with lack of sleep. What really bothered him was the cold.

It was certainly not the first night Kaoru had had to spend in the Treasury, so he wasn't sure why he had never noticed it before, but, apparently, after curfew the central heating in the administrative building shut down, and with every passing hour the temperature dropped a few more degrees.

By 4 a.m. Kaoru was shivering constantly, his fingers wouldn't work properly and the report was only half-done. He briefly considered confronting the new dorm-leader, but quickly realised that, even though the rule was generally disregarded, no student was technically allowed to be outside the dorms at night; not to mention the man hated him for an unspecified reason that may have something to do with the unfortunate accident involving a few prominent members of the karate club back in the first year. So he made sure to grab his warmest coat before heading back to the office in the evening, not that it helped much.

Thankfully, by the end of the second night the most time-consuming pieces of paperwork for the month were done: struggling through his morning classes sluggishly, Kaoru vaguely realised he likely couldn't take one more night in his freezing office. By lunchtime he was still freezing, his throat scratchy and his nose running, and he was starting to feel miserable enough to finally pull out his phone and dial Shinomiya's number, hoping he might know something about post-curfew heating. The phone was answered by someone else's soft voice, which informed him politely but firmly that Koji was in the middle of an important competition and was not to be disturbed unless it was an emergency. Iwai, Kaoru realised confusedly: he wasn't sure where exactly the secretive artist had ended up, but Osaka Medical College definitely didn't have an Art department. For some reason, the thought made Kaoru feel suddenly queasy, and he decided to forego lunch in favour of visiting the infirmary before the afternoon classes started. He was secretly very glad that the new doctor (Matsuoka was probably still on some tropic island, helping his boyfriend spend the compensation he had received from Suzubishi, or whatever was left of it after said boyfriend had bought Matsuoka out of kidnapping charges) refused to give him any medicine, insisting he just needed to sleep it off.

After what felt like no time at all, Kaoru's phone chirped with a new message and started downloading a tiny image of Shinomiya, a golden medal lying innocuously over his pristine-white kimono, flanked by two familiar figures clad in identical khaki pants and grey t-shirts with nearly indiscernible emblem of National Defense Academy on the front; the first figure was hugging the exasperated-looking archer and smiling like he had no care in the world, the second adjusting his menacingly gleaming glasses with one hand, the other firmly clasped over a dark blue sleeve of presumably Iwai Takuto trying to get away from the camera.

Kaoru resisted the urge to throw the phone into the wall and let his head fall back on the pillow, inwardly cursing Niwa, the grinning idiot. The bastard probably didn't even understand how lucky he was, with Nakajima consciously choosing to be his lieutenant. Kaoru, on the other hand, sometimes couldn't help wondering, what if Omi's Japanese had been just a little bit better, or the average level of English in their class just a little higher; would they still…

His phone came to life once again and started ringing insistently:

"You call to wish Shinomiya good luck, but not us? I'm wounded, Kaoru-chan!"

"Fuck off, Niwa! And that's not why I called."

"Then why did you?"

"None of your business. I didn't call you, did I?"

"Well, Shinomiya's got a seminar on traditional martial arts in modern youths' upbringing or something; rogaining, on the other hand, won't even start till after dark, so you may just as well tell me what's up."

"It's nothing. Just a minor technical malfunction, forget it."

"What sort or malfunction? Maybe I can help. Well, I can ask Hide."

"Tell him to abandon his air of omnipotence and summon his guard-dog to handle it, like he always does," Nakajima's deep voice promptly supplied from the background.

"Yes, sure," Kaoru scoffed. "Good luck, Senpais."

"Thanks, I guess, but – seriously, Saionji, is everything OK? You don't sound like yourself."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, I'm fine. I was sleeping, that's all!"

"Sleeping? At seven p.m.? And, wait, don't you have a council meeting today, or did Narose cancel those, the lazy arse?"

"Shit, the meeting," Kaoru moaned, "Is it really seven already?"

"18:48. You can probably still make it. But, Queen, you do realise this discussion is not over, don't you?"

"Whatever."

Kaoru dropped the phone on the bed, dragged himself from under the covers and stumbled into the bathroom. Taking in his clearly slept-in clothes and his hair sticking limply to his sweaty forehead, he resignedly realised he was disgusted by the very idea of being seen like this in public; but there was absolutely nothing he could do about it in the next four minutes.

Having splashed some water on his face (with very little effect on his questionable state of wakefulness), he pulled a sweater over his wrinkled shirt, tied his hair into some semblance of pony-pail and set off to the Student Council conference room as fast as his shaking limbs would allow.

***

**

*


	4. five

**_=5=_ **

Kaoru didn't know a thing about computers. He supposed he could master them, like he had just about everything he chose to apply his remarkable mind to, but he never bothered. Basic computer course had been offered during the first year of secondary school; their friendship had still been young and tentative, and Omi had had hard time wrapping his brain around the fact that Kaoru WAS a genius and, therefore, for him trying out all that disgusting junk food Omi was so fond of felt like much bigger sacrifice for the sake of friendship than doing every piece of homework that required extensive writing twice (and then making Omi re-read and re-write it till he could actually understand, if not re-create, every single kanji). It certainly didn't help matters that English gave Kaoru no more challenge that any other subject, while Omi, although a native speaker, still needed his help, as he couldn't always understand the Japanese phrases they were required to translate. So, just this one time, Kaoru chose to play dumb and let Omi shine. He didn't like computers, anyway. Their insistent buzzing and flickering made his head hurt and they required insanely complex actions to perform the easiest tasks. As far as Kaoru was concerned, aspiring freshmen had no business pestering him about every single digit they insisted on putting on some 'dead useful' self-updating charts, if they would inevitably screw up, leaving him to revise miles and miles of unnecessary subtotals, when he could have just told them the correct result in the first place. And there was certainly no need to turn the insane machine on, go online and log into the e-mail account (entering three separate passwords chosen by Omi in honour of his favourite heavy-metal bands, computer games, comic books or some equally ridiculous things Kaoru had trouble understanding – and, therefore, remembering), only to see his in-box remain stubbornly empty, barring the obligatory holyday spam.

Never before had he felt so miserable about being born on St. Valentine's day. Even when his classmates had been too engrossed in their romantic adventures, when his sister (and, on one memorable occasion, his parents) had had to beg off because of a date, Omi had always been there with a neatly wrapped gift to go with an insane plan that would leave Kaoru grinning madly for two days straight.

Only this year Omi was 7000 miles away, where long-distance phone-calls were apparently inconvenient due to different time zones, not to mention expensive; or maybe Omi just didn't want to talk, surrounded as he was by people who spoke his preferred language and shared, not just grudgingly tolerated, his avocation.

Hanging up on what felt like the thousandth "switched off or outside the coverage area" today, Kaoru silently watched the first five seconds of February 15th ticking away, before going to locate his glasses, thinking he should probably make an ophthalmologist appointment: for some reason his contacts were making his eyes water.

***

**

*


	5. plus one

**_=+1=_ **

The first rays of sunlight were peeping curiously into BL dorm windows, and the head of BL Treasury had finally been lulled to sleep by a report that wasn't actually due for another couple of weeks, when a very disheveled-looking Shichijo Omi crept silently into the room, trying very hard not to knock anything over with an equally disheveled bunch of flowers.

"Oh, Kaoru," he smiled fondly, cautiously approaching his friend's slumped form, "let's get you to bed."

As usual, the exhausted genius complied without really waking up; pulling Omi along was a little less usual, but not entirely unheard of.

First thing in the morning Kaoru darted out of bed, pretending he hadn't spent the night snuggled into Omi's side while refusing to let go of Omi's hand like a ten-year-old . Then he started pretending he didn't give a damn about being seen with a bedhead of once again plain black hair, myopically screwing his natural greenish-brown eyes and wearing a formless, ratty and definitely Omi's T-shirt. That dealt with, he proceeded to colourfully – and rather loudly – recount what exactly he thought of Omi's stay in Boston, Omi's decision to fly back to Japan in the middle of semester, Omi's poor choice of airline, and Omi's generally insane ideas that never failed to backfire. Then he demanded a proper, if belated, birthday celebration, and set off to the bus stop.

Once in town, he made sure to stop by the appropriate places and got green and blue highlights in his now dark hair and as well as a new charcoal-black gakuran to go with it.

Back at school, he collected all his class notes he could find, stuffed them into Omi's bag, and spent the ride to the airport ranting about how Omi'd better study hard, as they were both getting in Todai, legally this time, even if it killed them.

He spent the way back browsing through TOEFL sample papers – out of pure curiosity, of course. It's not like he ever considered studying in the USA.

**_=END=_ **


End file.
